


Well played, Excedrin.

by rlnerdgirl



Series: The Domestic Life of Spies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Aphasia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stiles is lost in a pharmacy, spy AU, the domestic life of spies, the one where Derek and Stiles are retired spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlnerdgirl/pseuds/rlnerdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which all Stiles wants is Excedrin, but instead he gets lost in a pharmacy and we find out why he's no longer on the active roster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well played, Excedrin.

Getting to the pharmacy section of the market isn’t difficult. Finding the aisle that has pain relievers is another matter altogether, so he concedes to the Pharmacist on that one. “Hi. Sorry. Where’s Excedrin?”

 

The woman behind the counter looks up, glances from him to the sea of aisles, and says, “Aisle five.” Luckily the statement is accompanied by a vague hand motion that, while indeed vague, is precise enough to inform Stiles of where aisle five is.

 

Thirty seconds later when he’s in said aisle facing a sea of little bottles and packets and boxes on either side of him, he’s faced with another problem altogether. “Well, that helps fuck-all,” is a quiet mutter as he chooses a side at random and starts inspecting bottles, trying to remember the names that go with the pictures, colors, and sizes as the swirling shapes that signify letters and words mock him.

 

Does Excedrin have a picture of a head on it? Do headache medicines do that? It seems like something that would be an advisable marketing technique, the image of a cracked open skull on the front of your headache medicine bottle to indicate just how much pain your little pills can sooth, but he can’t remember. There are hundreds of pictures and colors and logos going through his aching brain at the moment and he’s one hundred percent certain that the majority of them are from medications that aren’t American.

 

Sure he has a photographic memory, but he’s barely been in the country for the past six years and it’s a lot of information to sift through. Sure, it’s great that he can read the images he already has in his head—and that was explained to him thoroughly and completely and he still doesn’t really understand it—but it doesn’t help when he can’t match it to the labels in front of him because _he can’t read them_.

 

He spends a full two minutes searching through the shelves of bottles before he lets out a noise, stands, and turns with every intention of retreating to the Pharmacist with his tail between his legs and asking for more direct assistance, only to find that he’s turning and facing former Special Agent Derek Hale. Or, more precisely, said ex-spook’s back. A startled, “Hmph,” slips out before he can swallow it back.

 

The response is immediate. Derek’s head swivels, quickly, but not so fast as to be considered a snap, to face him. Their eyes meet and one of Derek’s eyebrows raises, as though he isn’t perfectly aware of the fact that Stiles was there first and their dual recognition of one another wasn’t inevitable. “Trouble finding something?” He asks, lips twisting into a wry kind of smile.

 

God damned him. He’s probably been hanging out watching Stiles fail this whole time and mentally cackling.

 

“Excedrin. Extra strength,” Stiles deadpans, unimpressed.

 

Pivoting to face him, Derek turns his attention to the shelf directly in front of Stiles, reaches out, and grabs a little green and white box that, well, _now_ is completely familiar. As he draws back and holds it out his amusement has multiplied tenfold. “Wily one.”

 

Stiles feels his left tear duct start to twitch. Snatching the box out of Derek’s hand he inspects it, growing more frustrated. With a sigh he drags his attention from the box and back to Derek, who’s still standing there, staring at him, eyebrow raised, lips quirked, amused. “Twenty-four capsules, right?”

 

The eyebrow lowers, lips withdraw to their typical purse. The amusement fades. A full facial twitch grasps Derek’s features for all of a millisecond, but it’s enough for Stiles to notice: uncertainty and confusion. He reaches forward, grasps the box enough to twist it a bit and read the front, the side Stiles had facing himself, and nods. “Yeah.”

 

With a nod, he says, “Thanks,” and takes a step back, but pauses before he manages to get himself to turn around and walk away, because Derek is… Derek is still _looking_ at him. Shoulders dropping, he sighs. “Aphasia.”

 

“What?” Derek counters, brows furrowing.

 

“Aphasia. Well, pure alexia,” he continues, clarifying. Then, when the light-bulb still doesn’t go off, “I can’t read.”

 

Now Derek just looks at him in disbelief, but it’s better than confusion, at least it lets Stiles know that he understood what he’d said. “You can’t _read_.” It’s not a question. Stiles doesn’t know what it is.

 

“Yes. I can’t read. It’s why I’m…” He gives a wave of his hand that’s meant to indicate his life at the moment—his present state of retirement. It’s probably a spy thing, that Derek seems to not only understand, but acknowledges, with a small nod of his head, what he’s saying. “So, yeah, but, thanks. With the,” he holds up the Excedrin box and gives it a rattling shake. With that he gives a final nod, turns around, and walks away. Because awkward conversations with ex-super spy Derek Hale are becoming a thing of his now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://rlnerdgirl.tumblr.com/) for quick and easy updates on what I'm writing!


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